


So Wake Me Up (when it's all over)

by KokoroJunnayai



Series: Charmed Meets [11]
Category: Charmed (TV), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Charmed is vaguely season 5, Gen, Piper will mother anybody, Suicidal Thoughts, finale spoliers, gen - Freeform, imortality is not all roses, merlin post finale, old!Merlin - Freeform, sorta depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6276235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KokoroJunnayai/pseuds/KokoroJunnayai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two thousand years is a long time to sleep. Merlin thinks it feels so much longer awake. </p><p>Slowly, slowly, his world blurs. </p><p> </p><p>Or the one where Merlin's wait for Arthur has driven him crazy (though not as crazy as he'd like you to think), and meeting Piper Halliwell helps make him sane (though not as sane as he'd like to think). Gen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize for the title. Yes, this song is probably overused in fanworks, but in my defense it fits Old!Merlin perfectly. 
> 
>  
> 
> So this is the sort of sequel to Charmed Meets Merlin: Tea, written in a different style than I usually go. 
> 
> In Merlin, it's set Post Finale (like way, WAY post) and in Charmed, it's set vaguely season 5, except for some reason the sisters are moved out. 
> 
> Maybe this is good?? I don't know.

_"They tell me I'm too young to understand_  
   _They say I'm caught up in a dream_  
_Well life will pass me by if I don't open up my eyes_  
_Well that's fine by me."_

 _-_ Wake Me Up by Avicii

 

 

* * *

 

Slowly, slowly, the world blurs.

 

Merlin wakes up and it's fall. He wakes up and it's spring. He wakes up and it's winter and he wonders if there is anything stirring underneath a far away frozen lake.

 

He doesn't know what year it is. Those pass so quickly now.

 

When he walks (sometimes he doesn't – he just appears in a new landscape like he teleported there in his sleep (and he should be worried about that, really, if he cared about anything anymore)) he lets himself wander until his feet ache and his stomach shrivels up into nothing, before seeking civilization.

 

(he can't die of anything, he's found, certainly not starvation, but that doesn't make it any more fun for him and certainly not less painful)

 

 

Civilization changes everyday, to him. There are castles. There are villages. There are homes of brick and houses of straw and buildings that stretch towards the sky.

 

He wakes up and there's a plague of death around him. He wakes up and there's another war going on. He wakes up and it's The War to end all Wars. (it always is, it seems like)

 

He wakes up and he watches nothing and everything, hating that no matter how out of focus he makes his world, the sharp pain inside refuses to dull.

 

Once in a while, he'll try. Maybe Gwen's kind, sad gaze will flash in his mind; maybe he'll appear next to Her Lake and she'll plead with him until she's in tears; maybe he'll remember what he used to be and it gives him a pang of emotion so unwanted he'll do anything to escape it.

 

He'll try, then. Put on whatever clothes pass as normal now. Magic the dirt from his skin, perhaps even wear his old, beardless face – even though underneath he feels so ancient and resentful his bones _quake_ with it.

 

Some decades he builds himself a life. He's been so many things. A farmer. A shopkeeper. A college student. A merchant. A tavern keeper. Once, and only once, a soldier.

 

(it hurt too much to ever try again)

 

(felt too much like Camlann)

 

 

He makes friends. Sometimes it helps, for a while. Fuzzy faces fade _into_ his life instead of out, names become more familiar instead of less, and his life fills up with smiles that even his uncaring mind cannot dim.

 

He doesn't forget what he's lost, exactly – he's pretty much running on tired, bitter anger at this point – but for a few, sweet moments the pain blurs and it's the _world_ that spins into focus.

 

It feels real. Seasons are still unimportant, out of reach, but years hold meaning again.

 

He feels real. Less like a legend, less like a ghost left to haunt the world. He hardly ever uses his real name, but sometimes he'll get it closer than others.

 

Marvin. Martin. Micheal. Matthew.

 

When he _needs_ to hear it again, needs to know that not only is he real now, but that he was real _then_ , he lets it be a nickname. It's less complicated that way.

 

“I'm Matthew,” He'll say. “I'm Marvin. I'm Martin. I'm Micheal.”

 

“But my friends call me Merlin.”

 

They always laugh. They think it's funny. Like it's a joke to want to be called a ghost's name.

 

“You're a bit weird, aren't you mate?” They'll say. And maybe he is. He can't remember anymore.

 

But when they comply, he feels so grateful, feels so _whole_ again, that it's a struggle not to cry, he's so happy.

 

Sometimes he can't stand to hear it, though. Sometimes they will call him that name, and out of the corner of his eye he'll see Gwaine or Lancelot or Arthur or Gwen and he can't – he can't –

 

(when that happens, he'll fade from that life so quickly and quietly they'll wonder if he was ever there to begin with)

 

(he hates it, but sometimes he gets a certain satisfaction from that)

 

(let them feel crazy for once)

 

(he is so _so_ sick of being the crazy one)

 

 

He wonders, idly, how long it's been since he tried last. He's woken up and it's winter again, and the cold should bite through his worn clothes, but his heart turned numb ages ago.

 

He wakes up and he has the beard again. He wakes up and the pain is still _suffocating_. (is this what dying feels like?)

 

He wakes up and he'd kill for someone else to wake up too.

 

He wakes up and he wants to die.

 

(does it make sense that he's the most powerful warlock to ever live, yet he's completely powerless to kill himself?)

 

 

Then one day he wakes up, and he meets Piper Halliwell.

 

He's met witches before. He's told wizards his true identity too, sometimes, just for kicks.

It jump-starts a tiny piece of humor in his dead heart, makes his lips twitch as they remember how to smile for fun. He enjoys tilting others' worlds' upside-down.

 

Despite all his efforts, she turns him real again, like he used to let others do.

 

She guards his ( _Arthur's,_ it was always supposed to be _Arthur's_ ) sword now. He's not sure how it fell out of Freya's careful hands and into Piper's... _explosive_ ones, but it did, and he lets it stay that way.

(he's not sure why, other than her being such a clearly good person)

 

 

She is alive in all the ways he's forgotten how to be. She has the fiery, righteous temper of a young Morgana, the love of sweet Gwen, and all the worries of a newly crowned King of Camelot.

 

Her loyalty makes him slip into a yawning chasm of guilt. Her son makes him want to cry.

 

Yet he visits Piper again and again, lets her make him tea (she is alright at it, for an American, though might just be her chef nature showing through, he thinks) and revels in this newest season of lucidity.

 

He doesn't even say no when she asks him to dinner once. He does begrudge her timing though – he'd been in mid-sip of his cup of green tea and choked a bit, at her abruptness.

 

 

“Oh you don't _have_ to come,” She'd fussed, misinterpreting his coughs. “I'd just thought with Paige and Phoebe coming over, and Leo there, they could get to know you better.”

 

He was supposed to laugh at her; say something crazy in his best Dragoon voice like, 'the last time I was invited to a dinner party, Nessy when for a swim in the Thames!'.

 

He'd nodded though. Merlin had nodded at this formidable woman, marvelous mother, wonderful friend, and said yes.

 

“It'd be for the best if you wore something else, though, something less hobo-like, Merlin.” Piper had not-so-subtly hinted.

 

A retort on the edge of his tongue, he'd thought better.

 

He thought yes, I should wear something else.

 

Now he knocks on her door with smooth hands, consciously adjusting his new jacket, resisting the urge to trace fingers over his hairless chin.

 

He's wearing a face he hasn't used in – was it twenty years ago? Two hundred years? Two thousand?

 

 

He's lost track. But it feels strange.

 

It feels even stranger to put on new clothes, clothes that aren't chosen simply for warmth or convenience or for his (as Piper so delicately put it) 'hobo-like' look.

 

Tears had run down his cheeks (so cold now, so open to the air – and already he misses the cover of his beard) when he'd picked out a scarf, but he doesn't regret it.

 

It's like a bit of home, a bit of love wrapped carefully around his neck.

 

He wonders what Piper will say when she sees him. He wonders how long it's been since he's felt this peculiar...not fear, exactly. The good kind of worry.

 

Excitement?

 

Surely not since he'd first set foot in Camelot.

 

New, youthful energy has him bouncing on the balls of his feet, lacing his hands behind his back so he won't try any mischievous spells.

 

He thinks the world has come into focus again.

 

He hopes it lasts a little longer this time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: More chapters? Delete this? Tell me what you think. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Piper's POV! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please comment :D

 

Piper isn't sure why she invited a mythical creature to her family dinner. Maybe because he looks so damn lost every time she sees him.

 

(ugh, she is _way_ too young to be trying to mother a two thousand year old man from Camelot) 

 

(not that that will stop her, she thinks wryly)

 

Still, her sisters hadn't called her insane when she'd informed them, and Leo had nodded at her like he'd understood (well then he'd gone on to lecture her excitedly on all the myths and legends of Merlin, and tell her how amazing it was gonna be to be able to ask him in person (Leo is a bit of a magical nerd, Piper is realizing) but it's not like he'd said  _no_ or anything) so the dinner is going ahead as planned. 

 

They've all met before, she knows, but this is different.

 

This will be two and a half hours of polite conversation and direct eye-contact, and she's not sure if anyone will be able to handle it.

 

Well. She worries. That's not news to anyone.

 

Piper is pulling a tray of her lasagna out of the oven when she hears the knock.

 

Merlin still refuses to touch her doorbell. When she presses him, he'll mutter something about 'pixies' and 'curses', and she's honestly afraid to ask if he's being serious or not.

 

Merlin tends to play up his craziness sometimes.

 

(or not, maybe, if the acting's part of it)

 

(all Piper knows is that while he might be crazy in plenty other ways, shouting angry nonsense at people is not one of those ways)

 

So when she hears the soft rap of knuckles on wood, three times in a row ( _tap tap tap_ ), she knows exactly the person she should expect to be waiting behind the door. 

 

She doesn't even think she needs to do with the pleasantries, seeing as she saw him a few hours ago.

 

“Hi, you're early. I just put a kettle on the stove for you, Mer – er..”

 

It is not Merlin behind the door.

 

Piper blinks, taking in the man – boy? No, man, she decides – shifting awkwardly on her front porch.

 

His hair, black and spiky, goes untamed in every direction, but his warm smile and clear blue eyes make it work for him. A dark jacket hangs off his thin shoulders, a red scarf decorates his neck, and his jeans look like the store-bought sort of roughed up.

 

Only the boots ruin his cool-guy image; they are big and comfortable looking and clearly meant for travel, clearly having been  _used_ for travel, by their worn, dirty appearance. He has a homeless person's shoes, she thinks, then wonders why she thought that. That's probably rude. 

 

 

She swears she doesn't know him, but his  _eyes,_ they remind her of someone, someone she can't name. 

 

“Can I help you?” She asks, trying not to squint up at him.

 

(did she meet him at the store the other day? Was he the underage kid that had snuck into her bar?  _Where_ had she seen him before?)

 

He laughs at her, a sound so familiar she feels momentary vertigo.

 

(it's like when you see a teacher or a doctor out of their element, and your brain freaks out and literally just goes  _they can't be here that doesn't look right_ ) 

 

(brains are so weird sometimes)

 

“Piper, it's me.” He grins.

 

Piper knows that accent. She swears on her son's life that she does. She  _knows_ him. 

 

“But...how...Merlin?” She asks, bewildered. “Merlin, is that you?”

 

 

And he offers her a bow, like he's suddenly gained manners with this abrupt youth, and she'd bet her club that it was a proper, authentic Medieval-y bow. He would know. 

 

“You said something about tea?” He eyes her warily, a bit of the old him sinking into his features. “Did you make the good tea? Or the rubbish tea? You know how I feel about the rubbish tea.”

 

“Well _yeah_.” She says, still surprised. “I mean, we nearly had to call the fire department. Some of my neighbors still won't talk to me. Everyone in a three block radius knows how you feel about that tea.” 

 

“I told you I wouldn't drink it.” And that's so _his_ tone (ridiculous and joking and serious and old and powerful) that Piper automatically steps aside and lets him into her home. 

 

He moves past her with practiced ease, hanging his coat on the coat-hanger like he lives here, too.

 

 

With a sigh, Piper closes the door and tries not to think about it too much.

 

(ten hours ago he'd looked old enough to be her grandfather, her  _great-_ grandfather even)

 

(now he could be her son)

 

(well maybe that was stretching it a tad but still)

 

Her brain feels like it will explode trying to wrap around this new concept. She promises it her favorite brand of red wine at dinner, and it quiets.

 

(if she didn't want complicated and weird she shouldn't have married a man who was killed in 1942, so)

 

(she can deal with this)

 

(probably)

 

Breathing in acceptance, she goes back to the kitchen to save the french bread from burning.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I guess people like this? I dunno, but it's fun to write ^^ Also, I think I tagged this but no real pairings in this fic. Sorry. No Merthur, no Merlin/Piper (Miper? Perlin? lol) just a lot of friendship and the slightest Leo/Piper. I love the idea of the Halliwell family sort of adopting Merlin, so that might show up here. 
> 
> Merlin just needs a lot of hugs and love at this juncture, okay?! Lol, thank you for reading!
> 
> See you next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this! You rule :D
> 
> Please comment!

Piper can't stop staring. She knows it's rude, she does but....

 

He's just so _young_. It's like if you saw a teenaged Yoda or something.

 

(it feels _wrong_ , somehow, and a teensy bit thrilling)

 

(she can't take her eyes off his chin for some reason because well)

 

( _why isn't there a beard there can he still even be called Merlin without a beard??!_ )

 

 

She watches the way he moves now, so different, so much smoother, than before. He whirls about her kitchen with energy – without any pain or protest of his joins – and can't seem to stand still, ever. He fidgets. He touches his face. He levitates dishes.

 

When he catches her intense gaze on him for the third time, blue mug of tea now cupped in his hands, he gives her an amber-eyed wink, which makes a floating spoon bop her gently on the nose.  
She wrinkles said nose up and shoos away the utensil, making a face at her warlock friend.

 

“You were staring.” He explains at her annoyed look. Which might be true, but....

 

Piper 'accidentally' flicks her hands at his tea, freezing it at it's boiling temperature, and smiles innocently at him.

 

“Oops.” She grins. “My hand slipped.”

 

With a sigh, Merlin steps away from his tea hanging mid-air – it's certainly not going anywhere – and pouts mournfully.

 

(she's sort of impressed)

 

(she didn't know pouts came in anything other than pathetic)

 

 

“Alas, Earl Grey, it seems you and me were not meant to be.”

 

She lets him have a moment of silence, dwelling in the returned normal banter between them.

 

(he's young but pretty much the same as ever)

 

“You know, you could get another cup.” She points out, against her grudge-holding nature. “I made a whole pot of tea.”

 

"Yes, yes, I _know_ that, Piper, I'm not five."

 

Biting down a smile at his annoyed, usual-crazy tone, she watches him pour himself a new mug of tea and sip it slowly.

 

He's the exact same, she thinks. He really is.

 

He's still weird, slightly-off Merlin, still her peculiar magical friend, and that comforts her immensely.

 

He catches her staring a second time and scowls, prepared to attack her with her own kitchen, so she averts her gaze.

 

"Come on. You're going to help me with dinner, mister." She says.

 

Merlin grins at her. And then he does.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

When one of the others (so many _names_ here) glances at him yet again, Merlin swallows a tired sigh. They are all seated at Piper's lovely dinner table, eating their pasta in the sort of pained, unbearable silence that makes one want to scratch their ears off with their dinner forks, and her family cannot stop staring.

 

“Go on, then.” He says wearily. “Ask.”

 

Piper's husband – Wyatt, he thinks first, but no, that's Piper's _son_ , and Piper's husband's _last_ name, not his given name, and wow is Merlin's memory ever going – Leon, or Leo, perhaps, exchanges looks with Piper's sister.

 

“Ask what?” The man says, blue eyes innocent.

 

Merlin resists the urge to pound himself on the head. He was so done with politeness and manners a couple of millennia ago.

 

“Whatever it is you've been dying to ask me. I can see it on your faces.” He adds at their worried expressions, as though maybe he is reading their thoughts or something.

 

(that would be ridiculous)

 

(he's always been rubbish at Legilimency)

 

 

“We just thought...it might be rude. You know, to ask personal questions about Camelot and King Arthur and all.” The dark-haired sister says, with a sort of embarrassed laugh at the end.

 

Her name starts with a _P_ , Merlin knows (he's sure), because Piper told him that going back to the witch Melinda, their names have always started with a _P_. It's a family tradition.

 

Still, that doesn't give him much to go on. There have been hundreds of names beginning with that letter.

 

(Merlin has known far too many people to keep track of names anymore)

 

 _Penny._ No, that wasn't it.

 

_Pepper._

 

 _Phyllis_?

 

Hmm. Maybe.

 

Merlin waves off her concern easily, accidentally levitating his spoon in the process. He grabs it quickly, before anyone notices, and replies,

 

“Your sister has already cooked me lovely lasagna. You can ask your questions if you like – I promise it will only be slightly rude.”

 

The four of them smile at him, relieved.

 

 _Phoebe_. He thinks suddenly, almost certain that time. Piper's dark-haired sister with the nervous voice and expressive hand gestures is called Phoebe.

 

But the red-haired one...

 

Damn.

 

This had been much easier when he only had to refer to her to Piper as 'your other sister'. Maybe he should start writing these things down.

 

 

 

“Is Wyatt really a reincarnated King Arthur?” The red-haired one blurts out.

 

(Paige, he thinks belatedly)

 

Merlin freezes for a second. Suddenly, he hates that he'd invited them to talk about the one topic that still means a damn to him, hates himself for still feeling so _lost_ after so much time.

 

Breathing in quickly, Merlin forces a smile, perhaps baring his teeth a little unnecessarily in the process.

 

 _God, I hope so._ He doesn't say. _I want him to be more than anything._ He doesn't tell them. _But after all this time, I can't believe it. I don't think I believe he's ever coming back anymore_. He bites down the truth of it, knowing it would kill him to speak those words aloud.

 

Instead, he switches gears. He puts up that wall – the wall of nonsense.

 

“Well.” He says fake-cheerfully. “He's a bit young to ask right now, isn't he? I expect if he is Arthur, I'll know sooner than later.”

 

They give him funny looks. He doesn't quite understand why.

 

“You don't just –” Here Phoebe ( _Paige_ , he'd  _just_ decided her name is  _Paige_ ) wiggles her fingers unhelpfully. “ _know_? Like, magically?”

 

Merlin can't seem to smile anymore.

 

“It doesn't work like that.”

 

(doesn't he wish it did?)

 

“...Oh.”

 

 

“Yeah.” Merlin says.

 

After another awkward silence that makes him doubt the necessity of dinner parties for the continuation of friendship, Piper's husband speaks up to break it.

“So what was he like?” Leon asks him earnestly. Something about the man's demeanor comforts Merlin, though he's not sure what it is.

 

He gets the same feeling around Piper; a warm, safe, home-like sensation that makes his lips curl and his shoulders relax.

 

 

They feel so...

 

(they feel soothing)

 

 

(they feel like Camelot)

 

 

 

Nice. So very nice.

 

“What was Arthur like?” Merlin clarifies, unable to tack on the 'king', not even for their benefit.

 

 

Leon nods, an eager light to his eyes. Those blue, blue eyes that he shares with his son.

 

 _This is the one that died_ . Merlin thinks vaguely. _He doesn't look it at all._

 

(the man is living his second life like a flower blooming in the desert – with vitality, determination, and appreciation)

 

 

Merlin doesn't want to lie to this gentle, steadfast person. He doesn't. Yet he also doesn't want to tell them of his dead king.

 

The urge to speak of those long gone waxes and wanes; Merlin doesn't even try to understand it.

 

He struggles to work past it, struggles to paint a content, serene expression on his face.

 

 

“I'm not sure what you want to hear.” He says with some semblance of a smile. “He was many things. Brave. Kind. Loyal. Strong.”

 

 

 

The dark haired sister (Phoebe – _Phoebe_ , he almost has it) flinches back as though Merlin had slapped her, screamed and yelled and roared at her, and he thinks with horrible clarity, _oh_. _That one's an empath._

 

 

A stab of uncharacteristic pity needles slowly through his core, eating its way in like a parasite. He has been cut off from the world on purpose for a very long age – he can't imagine what it would be like to never have that ability.

 

That must be torture.

 

That must be hell.

 

Quietly, gently, he takes his emotions from her open, always grasping reach, and he bottles each one up carefully inside. She should never have to feel his pain , Merlin thinks. No one should.

 

(not even him)

 

(maybe even especially not him)

 

Abruptly mid-bite of her lasagna, Phoebe's face wrinkles up as though she's forgotten something. She squints around, unable to identify it at first, then turns to face him.

 

 

Merlin smiles softly at her.

 

The conversation has lulled since his pause, so he has little trouble stepping back into it.

 

 

"I forgot you were an empath." He admits to her. "I'm sorry.”

 

 

Phoebe blinks at him, eyes heavy with makeup.

 

 

“You-you just hid your emotions from me.” She says, astonished.

 

“Mmmm.” At her continued stare, he adds, “I always thought it was a bit rude to inflict your feelings on someone before you really get to know them.”

 

Phoebe doesn't look like any of this is sinking in. She's smiling, actually, in that confused way normal people do when Merlin says something he thinks is ordinary.

 

“You think it's rude...to _inflict.._ ” She laughs. “That's gotta be a new one.”

 

“Merlin's weird.” Piper grins at him from across the table, comfortable in using the not-insult.

 

(she likes to use plenty of real insults too)

 

(Piper can never be accused of being shy in Merlin's books)

 

 "Good weird, though." Paige decides, smiling at him from across the table.

 

Rolling her eyes, Piper agrees reluctantly.

 

(Merlin knows it's all a show)

 

(that woman would mother anybody that came into her home)

 

(even him)

 

"Yeah." She grins. "He's a good weird."

 

 

 

Blinking, Merlin looks around the table and sees his old family pass before his eyes - Arthur and Gwen and Gwaine and the knights - and swallows back the sour taste in his throat. 

 

This is so familiar. This is-is _too_ familiar.

 

 

Still, they subtly draw the conversation away from the past, and Merlin manages to listen as they speak of their lives to him.

 

These people are not his family, he thinks, but they are kind. They are very, very kind.

 

 

 

All in all, Merlin thinks, it's not a bad night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I wasn't sure how to end this chapter, but there you go. Hope that's not too bad. 
> 
> I just wanted Merlin to meet the sisters and Leo (who he forgets and calls Leon, silly Merlin). I thought sad Old!Merlin needed lots of hugs and adoption into the Halliwell family, and that's how this story came about. Don't worry; the hugs will come. 
> 
> (also if you were wondering where Wyatt was in this chapter, I'm sure he's at Victor's house - he's a little young for fancy parties, I think) 
> 
> Still no shipping, except for Leo/Piper otp, of course. Merlin and Piper are my platonic Brotp, and no one can change my mind. 
> 
> lol, thanks for reading! I'd love for you to comment!! ^^


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even the strongest memories will fade, given time.

Merlin forgets, sometimes, is the thing. Some days he can't recall the sound of Arthur's voice or the exact shade of Gwen's eyes, or if, when Merlin had done something wrong, Gauis would raise one brow at him or two.

 

They are such little things. Such small, insignificant details that no one else cares about.

 

And each one, when discovered foggy and forgotten, sends Merlin into a spiral of despair and depression that lasts months, or years sometimes.

 

It's stupid. It _is_ stupid, he knows that – he tells himself that often, when he can't remember what Morgana's face used to look like smiling and genuinely happy or how Gwaine used to laugh – but it doesn't make each lost memory feel less like a blow to the stomach. He should remember them.

 

He _should_.

 

That seems to be all he's good for these days.

 

He should remember them, because if he won't, who will? Certainly not whomever made up all those silly legends and myths, that's for sure. He should recall them because they were worth it, because they meant – they _mean_ – so much to him he can hardly bear breathing without them.

 

In this, he tries.

 

(and in this, he fails)

 

(just like everything else in his life)

 

Merlin haunts the earth like a ghost, clinging desperately to the forgotten dead, and he dies inside every time the memories slip out from even his grasp.

 

That's why he's almost proud of himself when, on one of his worse days, he makes himself visit Piper. (Piper Halliwell, his shining beacon of light in this dark age)

 

(he's had many beacons, of course, many friends over these long years, but he figures she understands him a little better than most)

 

It's a step forwards, maybe. A step towards being real on a day he isn't sure what the year is.

 

When she opens the door, he blurts out his reason for visiting immediately, terrified he won't do it otherwise.

 

Merlin isn't sure if what that makes him.

 

"I can't remember Lancelot's face." He says.

 

Piper, so, so _Piper_ and lovely and sort of confused at the moment, blinks at him from behind her wooden door.

 

"Merlin." She says. She must see something on his face, because she adds hurriedly, "Come in, come in – I was just about to boil some tea."

 

It's only a cup of chamomile later that she smiles at him, tears in her beautiful eyes, and confides,

 

"Last month I couldn't remember how Prue looked. How she'd cut her hair, you know, before she died?" She pauses to swallow, to laugh. "And it's such a little thing, so...so unimportant, in real life, but in the moment it felt like a betrayal. It felt like I was letting Prue down by not remembering."

 

He nods gently because he knows; he _knows_. But she doesn't look how he feels right now, not horribly depressed and wanting to die, so he asks curiously,

"What did you do?"

 

 

The woman seems far away.

 

 

 

(is this how she feels, being friends with him all the time?)

 

(he wonders when, exactly, they'd switched roles)

 

 

 

Finally, his words reach her, wherever she is, and Piper startles out of her daydream.

 

"I looked at an old picture of Prue." She says simply. "And then I remembered her long hair; her bangs. And then I booked a band for my club and vanquished a pair of skiulker demons, and I went on with my life."

 

Merlin isn't sure what kind of wisdom he'd been expecting from the middle aged witch.

 

This...doesn't seem to be it.

 

"Oh." He mutters to himself.

 

(he wishes cameras had been invented back in Camelot, that he might have such an easy solution as to gaze upon a tiny image and recall, perfectly, the way his friends looked)

 

(more often, he wishes Arthur had simply sat still for a painting like all the rest of the good monarchs, but that was Arthur for you – never sitting still, always moving and busy fixing his kingdom to do anything the normal way)

 

 

 

When Piper rests a small hand on his arm, he is pleasantly surprised.

 

"I'm sorry," The witch says, her voice so sincere it hurts to hear, "I'm sorry you can't remember your friend's face. I'm sorry I couldn't remember some part of Prue. I'm sorry we both _suck_ at honoring our loved ones."

 

Merlin smiles at her. Piper has always had a unique way of speaking the truth with irritation, candidness, and sincerity, all rolled up in one.

 

However, she isn't finished speaking.

 

"But I will never forget how much I loved Prue," she continues, "and you still remember how you felt about Lancelot, right?"

 

How he feels about Lancelot is a bottomless hole in an already insurmountable cavern of loss and loneliness, but he forces the words out anyway.

 

Piper deserves to hear them.

 

(she's earned that much, at least)

 

"He was my friend." Merlin says.

 

Piper squeezes his forearm. She isn't smiling anymore, but there is something better glittering in her brown orbs. Empathy.

 

She gets it, a little. It's why he shared in the first place.

 

“He was my friend.” He says again. Merlin might be crying.

 

And then Piper is hugging him, surprisingly gentle and delicate-like, as though his bones will shatter and break if she holds him too tight.

 

(she might be right about that)

 

(his face may be young today, but his heart just _aches_ with age)

 

 

And although Merlin desperately misses the forgotten dead, he feels an odd sensation spreading in his chest.

 

It feels like peace.

 

Closing his eyes, Merlin smiles and leans into the hug. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just wanted someone to hug Merlin, okay? He's such a sad, angsty (with good reason) warlock with no happy ending in sight. 
> 
> HE NEEDS ALL THE HUGS!! SHOWER HIM WITH LOOVEE!! 
> 
> lol
> 
> Side-note; I'd like to think his magic helps him remember his Camelot friends, a little, though of course even that would fade over enough time. Two thousand years is a friggin' long time. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!! Please comment :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Piper hasn't seen Merlin for months, now. 
> 
>  
> 
> Mid-to-end Season six timeframe for Charmed.

 

 

Piper hasn't seen Merlin around for months now. She's worried, a knot of dark premonitions and pessimistic predictions squeezing her center, and guilty on top of it.

 

 

She hasn't tried to contact him.

 

Piper tries to justify it all to herself, of course, because that's what she does – she's been so busy finding out she's gonna have a second son, who will someday travel back in time to save her first son from turning evil, and then she's spent months trying desperately to find the person who turns said son evil and she's been preoccupied with Leo – and – and the dating thing – and –

 

She's been busy, okay? That part she feels completely justified in. And it's not like the warlock has a cellphone she can just call and check up on him on.

 

But. _But._

 

Merlin hasn't been by her home in months, nearly a year (not like him at all) and she hasn't so much as tried to scry for his whereabouts.

 

She doesn't even know if he's still – still _kicking_. Sure, he says he's immortal (looks it, too), but the world is a big place, and she's seen magic do some pretty messed up things she hadn't thought were even possible.

 

Hell, for all she knows, there's an identically immortal Morgan le Fay running about, looking for her chance to kill Merlin for good.

 

And here Piper is.

 

Here she is, pregnant as anything, sitting alone in Magic School, nothing to do but research demons and fret over the future.

 

It isn't exactly out of her way, so she's decided to worry about Merlin too now.

 

She's kinda ashamed it took her so long.

 

So, closing her book on _Goblins and Where To Find Them_ , the Charmed One stands up stiffly (ever careful of her belly) and goes in search of her scrying crystals.

 

She wasn't getting anywhere with the goblins, anyway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It takes far too long to locate him.

 

Piper makes Sigmund travel to her house and rummage through the front coat closet for the staff Merlin is always leaving behind, not informing the little man exactly what it was for, and feels something like comfort as she grips the familiar wooden stick, holding it close.

 

It probably looks weird scrying with such a tall item, but she's Piper freaking Halliwell _and_ she's _pregnant_ ; she doesn't care, not anymore.

 

 

Five minutes later, her aching arm receives a respite as the violet crystal zips to land, not too unsurprisingly, on Great Britain.

 

Well. She twists her mouth and stares at the map.

 

"Of course." She mutters to herself. "Where else would Merlin be but England? Not somewhere close, where I could drive to, like Oakland – no, that would be too darn convenient."

 

The stone is pointing pretty definitely at the small island across the pond, almost mocking her.

 

Great. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, Wyatt's mother thinks it through. She'll need a ride – no way would her sisters let her board an airplane out of the country, not this pregnant – but who should she ask?

 

Both Paige and Leo will want to know _why_ she needs to visit England, like specifically why she has to go today, and _crap_ , she should probably get a smaller map and pinpoint Merlin's exact position before she leaves, shouldn't she?

 

Good to know she's not _rushing into anything._

 

 

 

 

 

A computer printout map of England, one bathroom break and ten minutes later, Piper is considerably more prepared, and wonders if she shouldn't just ask Chris.

 

Their relationship isn't perfect – she loves him, really, but he hasn't been born yet and therefore, she doesn't know her kid as well as she'd like – but it's been getting progressively better.

 

He talks to her more now, anyway. It's a step in the right direction.

 

She nods, decision made, then turns to face the empty library (Sigmund left an hour ago, when she snapped at him for something small due to hormones)

 

(she probably should feel a little guilty about that)

 

(she doesn't)

 

"Chris?" She calls to the vacant room, voice unsure. "Chris, if you're not too busy, I could use your help. I'm fine, but I need a favor. So when you get the chance can you.."

 

Blue lights cut her off. A tall man in his twenties materializes, clothes rumpled and true fear in his eyes.

 

 

At his frantic expression, Piper withholds a sigh and tries not to get angry.

 

(this is always one of the worst parts of being pregnant)

 

(being treated like glass)

 

"Mom! What's wrong? Are you okay? Are you going into labor? Please tell me you're not going into labor."

 

Rolling her eyes, Piper grips his forearm and reiterates,

 

"No, Chris, I'm not going into labor. I'm _fine_ , I promise. _Absolutely nothing_ is wrong."

 

Her son doesn't look entirely convinced, but he calms down considerably.

 

"Oh." He says. When she releases him, he scratches at his brown hair. "So, if you're absolutely fine, why did you call me then?"

 

She smiles up at him.

 

"I need you to orb me to England."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Chris ends up coming with her, because he's more paranoid than one of Barbas's victims on Halloween, and is fairly convinced Piper will spontaneously combust on her own in a foreign country.

 

(she doesn't)

 

(she feels like blowing up some other stuff, a few times, but in the end, both her and England remain intact)

 

 

 

 

Piper finds him by a lake. No, that's not quite right – she finds him by The Lake.

 

A blind man could see how special and otherworldly the place the Halliwell's had orbed to was.

 

 

Chris, God bless him, senses something intimately private about this moment right off the bat, and opts to hang back and wait in the trees.

 

 

(she's still not sure she shouldn't be back there will him)

 

(there's just something so _personal_ about the scene) 

 

(so magical)

 

This is a place, Piper thinks as she wonders at it, that looks untouched by time or pollution or anything at all.

 

The mountains in the distance shine, the rising sun reflecting off their snowy peaks, and the blue sky above is so vivid it takes Piper's breath away.

 

(she didn't know blue could be so bright)

 

The air is cold, but clean. Refreshing. The forest surrounding them seems like an illustration from out of a fairy tale book.

 

And the lake. _The Lake._

 

The lake is so beautiful that a tear escapes her eye and runs all the way down to her chin, before she realizes and catches herself, brushing it away.

 

 

Her warlock friend is still, sitting prone on the riverbank with his knees hugged into his chest, and he looks like he hasn't moved in a very long time. Squinting, Piper thinks she can even see some snow in his dark hair.

 

A watery movement catches her gaze, then, and Piper's eyes swerve to the lake, where a lady in fancy dress is reclining.

 

The woman, Piper is fairly sure, is resting in at least three feet of water, knees bent under her and palm on the surface of the water for balance – but she doesn't seem to be getting wet.

 

Piper notices that she is as close to Merlin's riverbank as the water there will allow, and the part of her heart that belongs (will always belong) to Leo aches.

 

This is Merlin's Leo. This is Freya, lady of the lake.

 

(Merlin's told her a little about Freya but...to meet her)

 

(it makes his plight all the more real)

 

The Lady is beautiful, of course, with dark hair and tender features and skin so clean and without blemish that it gleams.

 

More than any of that, however, Freya's entire being radiates a deep melancholy – she has tears in her eyes and a world weariness to her face that says she's grieving over something very dear to her heart.

 

And her gaze leads right to Merlin.

 

They are not speaking at the moment, the air here mute of any sound, but Piper's mouth is still dry.

 

She still feels like she's interrupting as she speaks up,

 

"Uh, Merlin?"

 

 

The sound breaks this perfect, picturesque, story tale painting a little, and Piper can't help but flush slightly. 

 

 

Merlin blinks at nothing in particular, slow motion, and it's the only sign he shows of hearing her.

 

Piper wonders if she's ruined something important.

 

 _Too late now_ , she thinks wryly,  _we've_ _already orbed here and everything._

 

Taking a deep breath, the Charmed One tries again.

 

"Merlin, it's me. It's Piper. You haven't been around lately and I – _we_ , we've been worried sick."

 

Slowly, swallowing and swallowing like he hasn't drunken water for years, Merlin opens his mouth and says, in a hoarse, creaky voice,

 

"Piper?"

 

"Yeah, Merlin. It's me." She offers him a smile, chancing a few steps forward.

 

Her motion catches his eye and his gaze drops, unexpectedly.

 

For a moment, Piper wonders why.

 

His brow is furrowed, and his lady friend looks from them both not with jealousy, but with something like relief.

 

"You...your belly..." He says finally, his finger coming up to point at her middle. "You're pregnant."

 

Piper grins; she can't help it. It's been nine months, and she still can't help it.

 

"Yeah, I am. It's a boy." She adds as an after thought. "His name is Chris."

 

She doesn't know if Merlin's heard any of that – he's curled tighter into himself, his eyes back to nothing and far away, his mouth muttering,

 

"...pregnant...was she...I don't...Wyatt...but the timeline..."

 

Piper walks a few more steps forwards. Unfortunately, she thinks, she'd been right to worry.

 

With some difficulty, she manages to kneel down besides Merlin.

 

"This – phew, this is my second son, Merlin." She huffs out, annoyed at herself for getting out of breath just from this. "You met Wyatt before, remember? This one will be Chris."

 

She lets him mull this over, her concern increasing in unison with his mumbles. This Merlin is acting so much crazier than normal. 

 

Over his bent head, Piper meets the lady of the lake's eyes.

 

Freya smiles at her mournfully, but gratefully too. 

 

(hopefully)

 

"Thank you for coming, Piper Halliwell. It means much to me. My love, he..." She blinks back more tears. "He has been alone for a very long time. I do what I can, of course but I cannot – I am not allowed to leave this lake, you see."

 

Piper nods.

 

(she hears echoes of lines long past like _rules_ and _you should move on_ and _you two aren't meant to be_ )

 

(she thinks she gets it, a little)

 

Despite herself, the witch wishes she didn't feel so much sympathy for these immortal beings – she really does have enough people to look after already, at home.

 

"I'm sorry." She says.

 

Freya nods back.

 

"So am I. But you have lifted my burden much by coming here, by your friendship with Merlin. I don't...I don't know that anyone has ever searched for him before, when he goes missing."

 

That's starting to sound uncomfortably like praise, and Piper doesn't feel she really deserves it, especially since she hadn't actually tried to look for him until today.

 

Guilt feels like one of baby!Chris's infamous kidney kicks.

 

"Well, I worry sometimes." She shrugs. "So I thought I should check it. Make sure he's not..."

 

 _Not dead_ , is what she was going to say.

 

However, as she turns to peer at the pathetic ball of Merlin on her left, who has stopped muttering and started rocking back and forth (is that better or worse? Piper honestly can't say), the words die on her lips.

 

 

Honestly, it might be better if he were dead.

 

 

That's a horrible thought, Piper knows. Fate should probably send a lightening bolt to strike her were she sits. It's downright blasphemous. 

 

She hates herself for considering it, she really does, but...

 

Merlin just looks so...so broken. So tired.

 

 

So wearied by his own existence.

 

 

For one awful, regrettable moment, Piper lets herself imagine what it would be like to be Merlin.

 

She thinks of living through age after age, watching everyone she loves wither away.

 

 

 

Piper looks at him, at his eyes so lost, and wonders what it would feel like to lose ten Prues, or twenty.

 

Just the one loss was enough to make her wary of Paige – she feels certain that if she were to lose Phoebe and Paige, she would shut down that part of her heart forever.

 

Love has always felt like an invitation for pain.

 

(it still does)

 

(it always will)

 

Feeling sick, the Charmed One wonders how Merlin can love anyone anymore, after so much time and loss.

 

But...he loves _her_ , right?

 

They are friends, aren't they, she and Merlin? They've shared so much of their lives and experiences with each other, shared tea and arguments and the occasional hug; they've known each other for what feels like forever.

 

They _have_ to be friends, Piper tells herself. _At least_ friends. She'd never be getting this worked over someone she didn't care about.

 

 

Taking in a heavy inhale, she blinks back up at Freya and asks, with forboding and maybe a trembling voice,

 

“What's wrong with him?”

 

Freya is no longer looking at her. Her hands are at the water's edge, a foot from Merlin's motionless boot.

 

“What's wrong with a fraying cloth?” She asks back, vaguely. “What's wrong with a rusting sword or a greying woman?”

 

Piper doesn't know what Freya wants her to say.

 

She says nothing instead.

 

When it's clear the witch won't answer, Freya smiles, a small, self-deprecating gesture.

 

“Time.” She says. “Age. Year after year after year. One way or anything, time catches up to us all.”

 

Piper glances at Merlin, at his smooth face and wrinkle-free hands, at the way he rocks himself back and forth, and thinks fiercely that his was not a good trade.

 

Time did this? Just decades and centuries of living without ceasing? Who gave him this curse? Who had the _right_?

 

While she might not _like_ Death (he's really a jerk), she _understands_ him. She gets why he's there.

 

 

And someone stole him from Merlin.

 

 

 

It doesn't seem fair, is all.

 

 

 

“B-but...” Piper struggles to order her thoughts. “He hasn't been like this, before. I mean, his mental health was pretty questionable, _yeah_ , but he wasn't _catatonic_. What happened?”

 

“This happens sometimes.” The Lady explains. “W-when...when he gets overwhelmed with living in the world for so long, he'll come here and just...just hide inside himself. He's...”

 

Freya looks like she's trying not to cry.

 

“He's spent years like this, sometimes.”

 

She swallows.

 

“I can't help him. Not anymore. Nothing I do works for very long.”

 

“So...there's nothing we can do?” Piper says.

 

(she realizes, belatedly, that she's angry)

 

(she's never known how to just give up)

 

(why should she start now)

 

 

 

Suddenly the Lady splashes into standing (her clothes still aren't the least bit damp) and gives her a wide-eyed, startled stare.

 

“There's nothing I can do, no, but yes – yes, _of course_ there's something _you_ can do!”

 

“What is it?” She asks.

 

“Stand with him. Come find him again, when he leaves. Don't forget about him.” Freya blows out an emotional sigh. “Just-just be his _friend_. Just keep on as you have been.”

 

“That's it?” Piper watches the silent man next to her and thinks, _that's clearly not enough_.

 

Something in her voice must catch Freya's attention, as she rushes to reassure the Halliwell,

 

“You've no idea how _alive_ you've made him this past year. He put on his old face, you know,” Piper holds back a smile, thinking, _and here I thought it was his_ young _face_. “Because he was feeling so much like himself. He felt like a real person again. And – he'd been talking about _Arthur_. He'd talked with you about his _past_ ; do you know how long it's been since he's done that?”

 

Piper does not know; she's not sure she wants to.

 

“Centuries. It's been centuries. And all of that is because of you and your family.” Freya says.

 

Uncomfortable with such displays of intense emotion, Piper averts her gaze and doesn't reply.

 

Still, she came here for a reason, and she doesn't think she can leave yet.

 

“So what do I do _now_?” Piper says, voice quiet.

 

Freya's face is calm.

 

“What do you think you should do?”

 

_Damn cryptic magical creatures,_ Piper curses to herself, but she doesn't leave the query unanswered. 

 

She knows what she should do, knows what she would do if this were Phoebe or Paige or Leo or Wyatt or Chris – and really, Merlin is not so different from any of them.

 

“Do you...would you mind if I just, stayed here? For a while? With Merlin?”

 

A blinding grin breaks across the woman's features, lighting up the surface of the lake prettily, and she nods, slinking gracefully back down to the depths.

 

“I must go; I've stayed too long already. But thank you, Piper Halliwell. _Thank_ you.” 

 

There's not the tiniest sound of water as she sinks down into her lake; not even the smallest air-bubble escapes to the surface; and now Piper's pretty damn sure that chick just  _became_ the lake. 

 

But that shouldn't really surprise her.

 

(her son received a unicorn as a first birthday present; her husband is legally _dead_ ; why does she let magic still stun her?) 

 

 

 

Well. Seems like she could be here awhile.

 

Piper struggles to fold her legs beneath her, succeeds much later, and settles in to stare out at the lake.

 

She does not watch Merlin beside her, doesn't try to reach him again just yet.

 

She just...waits.

 

Believe it or not, she's got time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yay! Depressing chapter! Merlin relapses (he's been doing BETTER, but a year's friendship can't fix two thousand years of issues) and Piper doesn't let him fall alone. 
> 
> Now I, while probably alone, lowkey ship Merlin/Freya. Sooo...that might've shown, just a tad. Don't worry - Piper and Merlin are still Brotp, and no kind of shipping (other than familyship and friendship!) is particularly important here. 
> 
>  
> 
> There will be nothing explicitly romantic in this fic. Just in case someone was worried.
> 
> Also, unexpected PLOT! It's very exciting. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! You are amazing~ Please comment!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Piper is awesome.

 

Just when Piper thinks she'll have to abandon Merlin momentarily to go find a bathroom (God only knows what Chris has been doing or if he's still even here – it's been _hours_ (probably went home to vanquish some demons or something)), Merlin speaks.

 

 

 

"Hello, Piper."

 

She grins at him because that's – that's his voice. His accent, his tone, his inflection.

 

"Hey, Merlin."

 

He won't look at her, so she doesn't try to hug him, just pats him gingerly on his arm, noting how cold and clammy his skin feels.

 

"I missed you." She says. "No one will drink tea with me anymore – no tea except Camomile, but there's only so much of that I can take. I'm-I'm sorry I didn't try to look for you before this."

 

"I understand. Life goes on." His eyes do not go to her middle, to her swollen belly and new source of joy, but her mind does.

 

He doesn't even sound bitter, that she hasn't looked for him – just..resigned. Unhappily accustomed.

 

With a jolt, she realizes how it appears. To him, it must look like she's been living happily, fully without a trace of her friend to be found.

 

Her mouth opens to spill her the troubles of the last nine months – Chris and Wyatt and Wyatt turning evil and the whole Leo business and Phoebe and her powers – but at the last second she snaps it shut, thinking better of it.

 

Merlin isn't her therapist. He's not.

 

He's her friend.

 

And he's not okay right now.

 

“What about your life, Merlin?” She asks instead. “Has your life gone on?”

 

Her friend buries his dark head in his arms. A chilly breeze sends shivers down her spine.

 

 

“It never seems to _stop_.” He chokes out.

 

 _Damn it_ , even the men that Piper's not dating are breaking her heart.

 

“Merlin..” Piper says, then stops. She doesn't know how to fix this, doesn't know any of the magic words to say to someone in so much _pain_ , and is suddenly very bewildered on what she thought coming here would accomplish.

 

How do you friggin' make immortality better?

 

Haltingly, Piper lifts her arm and tucks it ever so slowly around Merlin, giving him plenty of time to flinch or pull back or tell her no.

 

Since he does nothing at all, she rests it on his shoulders and gently puts her head on top of his.

 

“I'm not good at this,” She admits. “But Merlin... I just want you to know that I-I love you. You're my friend. I just...I want to help. Will you tell me what's wrong?”

 

He has relaxed in her embrace, at the very least.

 

At her query, he shrugs, apathetic.

 

“What's not wrong?”

 

“What made you _leave_?” She throws back.

 

“What made _you_ leave and come find me?” He retorts, and Piper can't help but laugh a little, because they could do this forever, really.

 

They are two incredibly stubborn, neurotic people. No wonder half their relationship is arguing with each other.

 

With a smile, she tells him,

 

“My conscience made _me_ leave; made me come find you. It's just a shame it took so long to kick in.”

 

He lets out a 'hmm'.

 

“Now your turn.” She prompts.

 

With another shrug, she feels his muscles tighten and his head drop down, ashamed.

 

“You won't like the answer to that.”

 

“Try me.”

 

Merlin swallows. The sand beneath his boot gets scuffed, shyly.

 

“Your son.”

 

Wow, he was right – she _doesn't_ like that answer, doesn't appreciate any negative or critical emotions when it comes to her son at all.

 

That's why she'd been so mad at Chris for saying outright that Wyatt would grow up to be evil.

 

As a mother, Piper doesn't – _can't –_ process that. It doesn't compute.

 

But she's here because she wants to be, and Merlin is hurting, so she tries to control the anger in her voice.

 

“What about my son, Merlin?”

 

He sees right through it and flinches.

 

“See! I told you you wouldn't like it.”

 

 

“Merlin.” She sighs. “I'm sorry. Please, just tell me – what does Wyatt have to do with this?”

 

 

“He's...he can control Excalibur.” Merlin says.

 

Piper does not say 'that's because he's King Arthur's reincarnation', nor does she say 'it's because he's the Twice Blessed'. She doesn't feel that either of those statements would be helpful now.

 

“Yes, he can.” Is all she says.

 

“He...he has blond hair.”

 

Again, an unconscious smile slips out.

 

“Just like his father.” She agrees.

 

Merlin suddenly sits up – and Piper is forced to remove her arm.

 

“He has Arthur's eyes.”

 

Crossing her hands in her lap, she regards chipped fingernails rather than the warlock's rapidly dissolving expression.

 

“Does that make him King Arthur?” She asks softly. She can't resist the urge to glance up and what she sees is awful.

 

Merlin is crumbling, as swift and easy as a sugar cookie, tears streaming down his face. Those blue blue eyes have skies of pain reflected in them, his soft mouth wavering as he holds back more sobs, and his pale knuckles tighten around himself.

 

 

“I just – I don't _know,_ Piper. I don't know if he's Arthur or if he's Wyatt or if this is all just a trap or trick that Destiny set up to make me wait twenty more years – and – I don't know if I can keep on waiting - and I can't...” A sob breaks free, sounds like delicate porcelain shattering. “I don't know if he's ever coming back, Piper.”

The beautiful scenery around her seems to dim and fade.

 

"I'm so sorry, Merlin." She says. There's nothing more she can say, so she watches him cry and stays silent, lets her heart break with his. She can't pinpoint the exact moment her emotions take a violent turn.

 

 

Each tear sparks at something instinctual inside her, builds to a fire she's unconsciously been building ever since the day she'd met Merlin. Every sob makes her chest contract with a strong, unquenchable feeling.

 

It takes her a minute to realize her fists are not trembling with empathy for the warlock (not _just_ that, at least), but with pure, undiluted _rage_.

 

The massive feeling intensifies and burns and quickens until she can hardly stand to breathe with it.

 

 

 

She bolts upright so quickly she scares Merlin into a flinch. A part of her feels bad about that, really, but the rest of her is consumed with her epiphany.

 

“No.” She says.

 

When Merlin turns to peer at her, he has a bewildered expression on his face; he doesn't look freaked out, just really confused. He swipes at his remaining tears.

 

“What?”

 

 

“No.” Piper Halliwell repeats, righteous fury shinning like embers in her eyes. “ _Hell_ no. That is complete bull crap. You're frickin' _Merlin_ and that is – this is all _stupid_. You _do not deserve_ this.”

 

The legend is struck completely speechless. It's for the best – Piper's not finished.

 

Oh, no, she's just getting started.

 

“Merlin, stand up.” She snaps. (whoops, the anger's leaking out) “I'm gonna fix this. I'm gonna get your king back or God help me, I'm gonna vanquish somebody trying.”

 

“But, Piper, I've tried this before –”

 

“Yeah, well, you didn't have me, then. And I am _royally_ pissed off.”

 

Merlin's mouth shuts immediately. He stands to his feet and hunches in on himself pathetically, a tragic and not-understanding furrow to his brow. He still has his arms wrapped around his middle.

 

The Charmed one sighs.

 

“I'm gonna yell at Fate for you, Merlin.” She says, dimming her fury for a moment. “You didn't deserve to suffer so long – you didn't deserve to suffer at all. I think it's about time someone stood up for you and told good old Destiny where to stick it. Now you can come with me and watch or you can wait here, but I _promise_ I will do everything in my power to make this right. What do you say?”

 

The man can't think of anything to say for a moment. She watches him blink and gape and stare at her as if he's only meeting the real Piper Halliwell right now.

(he might be for all she knows)

 

Finally, he nods, not a grin on his face, exactly, but a scared bit of hope.

 

“Okay.” He says. “Okay, yeah. I-I'd like to come.”

 

 

“Good.” Piper grins, then sucks in a deep breath to yell, “Chris! Chris, come back I need you!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

So Piper kinda summons an Angel of Destiny in her attic. 

 

 

 

 

In a distant, factual way, she knows how powerful and massive and not human the being before her is - Piper does know that Destiny could blink or nod or flick her fingers, and Piper could disappear from existence. The Angel wouldn't even break a sweat. 

 

The Angel is to her as Piper is to an ant; God.

 

 

 

 All of this, Piper knows as well as she knows that the earth revolves around the sun.

 

It's one of those facts that tend to stick with you even after years and years.

 

 

However, Piper is filled to the brim with indignant, red rage, and while she knows that The Angel is powerful, she feels none of it, only her hot, searing fury. 

 

 

"How dare you?" Is how she greets the serene creature. "How dare you do this to him?!"

 

"Piper." The creature says, so calm and unruffled (why shouldn't she be), with her hands clasped before her. "How nice to see you again."

 

The Angel gives off a strong, motherly, Whoopi Goldburg vibe, which sucks because Piper likes Whoopi Goldburg and she's trying to rant, here. 

 

She rolls back her shoulders.

 

 

"Do you know what you've put him through?!"

 

 

"You're referring to Merlin." Destiny states.

 

 

 

"You killed his King, after promising a unified Camelot or whatever, and you told him you'd bring Arthur back. Well, _newsflash_! It's been two thousand frickin' years!! Bring him back already!!"

 

 

"Arthur was always meant to fall at Camlann." She says. "And the Camelot of prophecies did come to pass; under Queen Guinevere's rule, magic was once again legalized."

 

That catches Piper off balance, almost makes her stumble though she wasn't moving. Surprised, she swerves her head back to squint at her friend.

 

"Is that true?"

 

 

He shrugs.

 

"Yes."

 

 

 

"Was that...is that good? Are those uh, happy memories for you?" She asks, hoping that something in Merlin's life worked out for him, just a little.

 

(She's put her rant on pause for a moment, but no one present seems to object) 

 

 

He shakes his head; shrugs again; nods.

 

 

"It was alright for a time. It was - nice. For as long as I could stand to stay there."

 

 

 

A genuine smile breaks across the Halliwell's face and through it, she sends her joy for him.

 

"I'm glad."

 

 

It is somehow desperately important that the tragic legend have some spot of light in his sad, sad life, and it eases something inside her as she sighs.

 

 

Then she whirls back on her prey, hands instinctively raised, and tries to go back into her spiel. It's hard to be quite as angry as before.

 

 

"Why haven't you brought King Arthur back yet?"

 

 

The Angel looks at her. Those eyes can't be guarded against, or hid from - but neither do they hide. Planets, solar systems, galaxies, time; they're all reflected, unmoving and bright in her orbs. Fate itself might be written in those deep, black eyes.

 

 

 

 

She looks sad, Piper thinks to herself. Sad and ancient and weary, but hopeful, too. Like someone who's lost a sister but gained a friend.

 

 

 

"Piper, I am not the sole Angel of Destiny." She says softly. "I am one of many, and none of us can tell you the futures of those beyond our charge. None of us knows the entire picture for every being on this earth."

 

Piper crosses her arms. She feels _bad_ ; she's not stupid.

 

 

"Yeah, but this is  _Merlin_ and _King Arthur_. They're pretty damn significant. You're telling me you don't have the slightest inkling as to why or how their story ends?"

 

 

 

The angel hesitates, tongue frozen on a word.

 

 

 

"See!" Piper snaps. "You do know something!"

 

 

"You have always been a strong willed mortal." Destiny smiles. With a big sigh, she just...caves.

 

 

 

"Alright then. Let's give Merlin what he wants. So how will you have me do it, Piper? In what way would you have me resurrect the Once and Future King?"

 

 

Piper opens and closes her mouth, then realizes belatedly that this has never been her choice to make.

 

"Merlin?" She calls, question in her tone. "He's your friend."

 

 

Merlin doesn't look like he's breathing; he can't seem to speak for anything, which, at the moment, is sort of ironic given the stakes.

 

Taking a step forward, Destiny eyes him with what Piper swears is a mix of guilt and pity and offers,

 

"We could place his reincarnated soul into Wyatt. The boy has Kings' blood in him; it wouldn't be hard. Or we could reincarnate him into a nice modern, English boy somewhere in London. In twenty years, he would remember who he was and know, fully, who you are. Or," and her voice gets even gentler. "We could pull him from the lake."

 

If Merlin hadn't been breathing before, he definitely isn't now.

 

"He's not really still there, of course, but his soul is safe in Albion and his body is preserved perfectly. It would be a matter of combining the two. He would rise knowing nothing of what has passed in his absence; to his mind, he would've only closed his eyes in death minutes ago. He would be... exactly the same."

 

 

Merlin's wild, unsure eyes land on Pipers.

 

"What should I do?" He asks, with all the joy and anguish of someone who is being offered just what they've always wanted and isn't sure what the consequences will be. 

 

Piper isn't touchy feely, but the moment seems to call for her to gently ease her hand onto his shoulder.

 

 

"Merlin. It's your choice. It's in your hands, now."

 

For so long it's been out of his hands - for too, too long destiny has told him where to stand and where to go and when to wait.

 

Now, Merlin gets to decide.

 

 

The sudden change upsets and bewilders the man, by his quickened breath and shaking limbs. His cheeks are skull-white, his hands fists of trembling uncertainty, and she can't quite seem to catch his gaze though she's looking directly into his eyes.

 

"I-I don't...I-I can't..." He does not go on. He doesn't seem to be physically able.

 

Piper just badgered the woman into this huge favor already, but she feels little shame in saying,

 

"Look, can you give us just a minute? We have to talk this over."

 

Thank goodness for Angels and their infinite patience.

 

Her Angel of Destiny blinks, smiles, and nods, gracefully turning to observe the other side of the Halliwell's attic.

 

"What do you want, Merlin?" Piper asks him, low, urgent. If they didn't name something soon, Merlin may end up with no Arthur at all, and that would be so much worse - Piper will  _not_ be responsible for giving this man hope and then yanking it away again.

 

Merlin just stares through her.

 

"I really don't know what to do, Piper." He cries. 

 

 

"I know this is hard, but I can't promise this lady with wait around forever."

 

A flinch echoes through his body, and she winces at her phrasing.

 

"Would you like her to uh, pull him from the lake? Do you want him to be the same as he was, all those years ago?"

 

"The same..." She's losing him again.

 

"Or! Or," she adds, "do you want her to do the reincarnated thing? That wouldn't be so bad, right? He'll know what modern technology is and he won't be freaked out by democracies.  That would be good, right?"

 

 

 

"What about..." Merlin's mouth struggles to form the words. "What about your son?"

 

 

"My son...my son..." Piper does not want to do this. She doesn't want to force him away from what he really wants, but her opinion manages to creep in anyway. "He's already the Twice Blessed, Merlin. I don't - no, I'm sorry. If that's what you want, I'll have to call Leo. He would get an opinion too."

 

Leo will always be Wyatt's father, even if he's not always her husband.

 

She looks at Merlin, who's checking out a little, but almost smiling too, and she unconsciously rests her hands on her belly.

 

"I guess any way that you decide, it comes down to whether or not you can wait a little longer." She says. "Do you want to see Arthur today? Or is it enough to know that he's out there, in the world, even if he's in a form you can't talk to?"

 

Somehow, in the space of one of her blinks, the man is crying again.

 

"What's the right thing to do?" He asks. "What would Arthur want?"

 

"Merlin, you are the only living person today who can answer that."

 

And, to the witch's amazement, something in her words strengthens him, braces him, and he straightens, a look of determination on his face.

 

(Piper has never seen him like this)

 

(looking so...so _Merlin_ )

 

He nods at her, his face resolute and his shoulders pushed back, and something living flickers beneath his skin.

 

"Alright." He says. "I know what to do."

 

And Piper nods back, but honestly, the way he looks and the way he doesn't even pause as he walks up to the Angel of Destiny, it doesn't matter at all. Piper doesn't think it would've mattered if she had tried everything in her power to stop him.

 

He's giving off a frankly terrifying aura.

 

But the Halliwell is right behind him and she's happy for him. Happy that she pushed. So glad that she didn't leave him weeping and alone on a lakeside, depressed and trapped in a life he can't escape.

 

Piper honestly is so happy she and Merlin became friends. It makes a warm glow start up in her heart.

 

And a minute later in her dusty old attic, when Merlin's final decision falls out of his mouth and into listening Destiny's ears, she can't even say she's surprised. She's thrilled about that, too.

 

 

 

Tomorrow, she'll have to go back to searching for the evil that turns her precious baby boy, and she'll have to return to her troubles with men and her job, but right now? She just helped a friend get their life back over two thousand years of waiting.

 

Yeah.

 

Life is pretty good today.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I was just gonna write a depressing ending with Piper comforting a almost-suicidal Merlin by the lakeside, when it occurred to me. Piper would NEVER take that level of douchedom, not from anybody ever (for canonical evidence, see every episode of Charmed).
> 
> And I thought. Oh my gosh, you know what she would really do?
> 
> Yell at the angel of destiny. She's done it before. She could do it again.
> 
> So there we go - Piper fixing the situation by getting angry. Never let it be said that that doesn't work. 
> 
> And for what Merlin decided? You get to pick whatever way you want. :D Whatever ending you feel best befits Old!Merlin, just imagine it happened that way. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this! You guys are amazing and I appreciate every one of you! Hope you enjoyed this silly little fic of mine :)


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